Of Family, Biscuits and Video Games
by julien-schu
Summary: In which Arthur has Peter for the weekend, and there is a realisation after some repeated tree-climbing.


**Of Family, Biscuits and Video Games**

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"'Scuse me."

Arthur Kirkland turned to find Berwald Oxenstierna towering over him.

"Oh, Berwald. What can I do for you?"

"Need a favour. Could y' have Peter this weekend?" Berwald said, frowning quite a bit, as if it took a great deal of effort to actually use somewhat more complete words and phrases than he usually did.

Peter more than often dropped by whether Arthur liked it or not, so he was used to having the boy around - though he usually had to clean up the mess Peter left behind before the boy ran off to his 'Papa' - but why was Berwald making an actual request?

"Er, why exactly?"

"Me 'n m'wife. Military exercise on S'turday. 'S no good for kids to be 'round." Berwald shook his head in what he must have thought was a concerned gesture, but it somehow ended up making him more intimidating than usual. "Bombs 'n missiles 'n things."

"Aha." Arthur agreed with Berwald's sentiment that he did not want Peter to get hurt, but more importantly, the conviction that the boy should not be allowed anywhere near any form of weaponry."All right."

"Sure 's no tr'ble?"

"No, 's no tr'ble - I mean, it's perfectly all right."

Berwald nodded. "I'll drop 'im off in the mornin'."

--x--

When the doorbell rang the next morning, Arthur opened the door to find Berwald and a very annoyed-looking Peter, who had a small backpack and was sucking on a piece of candy. "Hello," he greeted. "Come on in."

Peter ran inside and up the stairs, while Berwald shook his head. "Sorry. In a rush." He handed Arthur a Tupperware container. "M'wife made lunch for 'im."

"Oh, all right then. Don't worry about Peter," Arthur said.

"Me 'n m'wife know. You always take good care of 'im."

Arthur nodded.

"If 'e misbehaves, use this." Berwald shoved something else into Arthur's hands, and before Arthur could say anything in response, the tall nation gave a curt nod and left.

Arthur blinked. "What does he mean, use this?" he wondered, staring at the big cardboard box in his arms.

--x--

Peter was already in the small guest bedroom he usually used whenever he was at Arthur's (whether Arthur was aware of it or not), unpacking his things. Done, he flomped on the bed, dangling his legs as he looked around. The room still looked the same as the last time he was here - meaning, it was as boring as ever. Boring old furniture, boring curtains, boring wallpaper, boring old pictures on the wall, boring TV in the corner-

Wait, the TV was a new addition. A small bit of excitement started to form in his heart when he thought he saw... yes, it was!

"Ooh, a Wii! _And_ a PS3!"

This was brilliant, especially since he was not allowed to take any of his game systems to Arthur's for the weekend. Peter had resigned himself to hours of boredom - after all, there was nothing much to do in Arthur's house. Sure, the man had a great big library, but Peter was going through a phase where the written word had less appeal than moving flashy pixelly bits on the screen.

He hopped off the bed and inspected the games stacked neatly near the game systems. Most of them were still pristine in their plastic shrink wrap, but a few were opened. He looked at the titles and almost found himself agreeing with Arthur's taste in gaming, but decided that it was just an immense dose of luck - pure coincidence, yes, that's it - that he liked most of the games Arthur had.

Humming to himself, he went to look for Arthur downstairs. "When did you get those gaming stuff?" he asked, once he found Arthur in the small room he used as an office.

Arthur's cheeks turned slightly pink. "Oh, those? Kiku and Alfred gave them to me a while back. Do you like them?"

Peter shrugged. "They're all right."

"Oh.... Well, you can play on them if you like. Just stay out of my way today, I have tons of work to do." The man gestured at a tall stack of papers on his desk. "But let me know if you're hungry, and I'll get you some lunch."

"I'll find stuff to do."

"No mischief, mind." Arthur looked sternly at him.

"Whatever."

Now Peter _was_ in fact going to behave himself, especially when Berwald had told him several times that a scary fate involving cardboard boxes awaited him if he was not on his best behaviour for the weekend. But since Arthur just had to adopt _that_ tone with him, that meant that he just had to find something to annoy the man.

After all, Arthur was mean to him on plenty of occasions - quite a number of those imagined, whispered a little voice in his head, but he chose to ignore it - and besides, he might as well pull off a few pranks _now_ as a pre-emptive measure for the times Arthur _would_ be mean to him in the future. Like tearing out the last ten pages of all of Arthur's new detective books, perhaps?

Peter snickered, and went to explore the rest of the house to see if there were any other new and interesting additions. Much to his disappointment, most of the rooms were locked. Arthur's bedroom was not, however. He stepped inside to have a look around, and something on bedside table caught his eye.

The object in question was an old-fashioned pocket watch; it was made of gold and had a long chain attached to it. Peter picked it up and wondered just where he had seen it before. Ah yes, he remembered seeing Arthur showing that Alfred the watch once, saying that it was a present from the Queen herself. It was obvious that Arthur treasured it.

It would be fun to have Arthur tearing down the house trying to look for it. Especially when the watch was actually hidden elsewhere... like up a tree, maybe? Or better still, maybe Arthur would get so upset and would do anything to get his prized watch back, like giving official recognition to a particular micronation....

Peter grinned and tucked the watch in his pocket.

About fifteen minutes later, he was up in one of the trees in the garden. Arthur would never think of looking for his precious watch up in a tree - especially the tallest tree in his garden. Peter wrapped Arthur's watch in his handkerchief and carefully placed it in a knothole, before stuffing the knothole with a scrunched-up plastic bag.

"That should do the trick," he said, satisfied. Now all he needed to do was to get down...

Down?

Peter looked in the aforementioned direction and gulped. The distance between the ground and the tree branch he was sitting on certainly looked less intimidating when he had began his ascent.

Down, indeed.

After an hour of agonising deliberation, he decided on his course of action. Swallowing his pride, he took out his cellular phone, scrolled through the contacts list and pressed a key.

--x--

"Why can't I just initial these things?" Arthur grumbled, glaring at the mountain of papers on his desk. No, he had to sign them all full and proper. Not 'A. Kirkland', not 'Arthur Kirkland', not even 'U.K.', and most certainly not just a great big bloody 'X', but he had to sign 'United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland' in his neat handwriting at the bottom of each document.

Every single 2,000 of them.

Brilliant.

Arthur looked up from the 157th document when the telephone on his desk rang. He picked it up. "Hello?"

There was a long pause, before a tiny, plaintive voice on the other line said, "Um."

"Um?" Arthur echoed. He frowned. "Peter, is that you?"

"Um."

"Oh for pity's sake," Arthur grumbled, "I've got plenty of work to do, and here you are making stupid calls-"

"Help."

Arthur blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"I said, help! What are you, deaf?"

Arthur chose to ignore that last bit. "Why, what have you done?" he asked.

"I'm stuck."

"Stuck? Stuck where?"

"Up in a tree."

Arthur sighed and told himself, I am not going to snap at Peter. I was young and feckless once. No wait, he corrected himself. I was young, but I was not a snot-nosed tyke who got himself stuck in trees. "Which tree?"

"The beech just past the garden shed."

"On my way."

Some minutes later Arthur found himself peering up the tree in question, yelling, "Peter? You there?"

There was some noisy rustling of leaves before a red-faced Peter poked his head out of the thick foliage of the tree's higher branches. "Where else would I be?" he yelled back.

"Can you try climbing down just a bit? Then you can just jump and I'll catch you."

Peter looked down, gulped, and frantically shook his head.

Arthur's expression softened. "All right. Stay put and I'll come get you."

Mentally congratulating himself for keeping in shape, he set to work climbing up the tree. It did not take him long to shimmy up the tree limbs to reach Peter, who was clinging to a branch for dear life. Once he was sure he had braced himself and found a secure foothold, he reached for the boy. "Come on," he said.

"Are you sure this'll work?" Peter said, not letting go of his branch.

"Unless you fancy growing wings or jumping down yourself, I'm your only way back down. Now come on." Peter took his hands and Arthur deftly scooped the boy into his arms. "Get on my back and hold on tight. Yes, that's it," Arthur instructed.

"You sure about this?"

"Yes, I'm sure. And _yes,_ I'm stronger than I look."

It was far easier to climb down than up, and Arthur had Peter safely back on the ground in less than a minute. "Are you all right?" he asked as he checked Peter's hands for cuts and scratches.

"I'm fine!" Peter announced, before he jerked his hands away and ran off, leaving a startled Arthur behind.

"Oh by the way, thanks very much, Arthur," Arthur muttered and walked back to the house where an ungrateful loud-mouthed brat was running around and his paperwork awaited, and he cursed silently at the conniving evil bastardness of it all.

--x--

Humiliated, Peter sought sanctuary in Arthur's library. Oh, he would never live that down. Arthur would not let him. He could practically _hear_ Arthur's oh-so-righteous voice taunting him; oh, he wants to be a right proper nation now does he, when he can't even climb down a tree, boo hoo.

Peter snorted. Let's see if Arthur likes having all of his precious books scattered on the floor. Grinning, Peter set to work. About an hour later, he surveyed his handiwork and was pleased with the bare shelves and the incredible, _incredible_ pile of books on the carpet.

Time for lunch.

Arthur must have taken a break from his boring paperwork some time earlier, since there was a plate of food - Tino's cooking, fortunately - and a bottle of lemonade waiting for Peter in the kitchen. He was thankful that Tino had packed him lunch. Anything was better than Arthur's cooking, which should be classified as hazardous waste, in his opinion.

Once he was done with his meal, he opened the kitchen cupboards, hoping to find something to snack on. There was the usual row of Arthur's boxes of different teas - Darjeeling, Ceylon, Cameron, some other exotic-sounding blends and good old PG tips; while they were somewhat nice to look at, they were not what he wanted.

He brightened when he opened one of the cupboards. Apparently Arthur decided to get some decent biscuits for once - namely, stuff Peter actually liked (Penguin biscuits! Milk chocolate HobNobs!) - instead of his usual stock of what Peter referred to as 'old people digestives'.

When was the last time he had actually found something decent in Arthur's kitchen, anyway? Never.

Deciding on a Jaffa cake, he nibbled on his snack and trotted off back to the library to see if there was anything else he could do. When he spotted Arthur's datebook on the table, he chuckled and flipped through it. Meetings, more meetings, some official visit or other-

Peter blinked. There it was in Arthur's neat handwriting, right in yesterday's column:

_Prepare guest room (don't forget the TV!) for Peter. Buy some chocolate and biscuits - stuff he likes._

He stared accusingly at the half-eaten Jaffa cake in his hand, and then at the mountain of books on the floor. No, he was not feeling guilty, he was not, _he was not -_

He was.

"Oh balls!" he grumbled softly, for Arthur would throw a fit if the man caught him swearing.

He sighed, finished his snack and picked up some of the books on the floor, unable to decide at the moment whether he hated himself or Arthur more as he began the long, long task of putting the books back up on the shelves.

--x--

"Seven hundred and fifty-two... seven hundred and fifty-three...."

Arthur groaned and buried his face in his hands, resisting the immense urge to say, 'Oh sod it, let's just go to the ale house.' He sighed and refilled his pen instead.

"Seven hundred and fifty-four...."

--x--

Taking a short break from tidying up the rather spectacular mess in Arthur's library, Peter leaned back against the wall and sighed in relief. It went quicker than he thought. Okay, so maybe he got the order of the books wrong, but at least more than half of them were back up on the shelves again.

He would have more than enough time to finish the job, clean himself up, and then maybe play some games before Arthur was done with his paperwork and called him down for supper.

He looked at the clock on the wall to check the time. He frowned.

Clock.

Time.

Watch.

Watch was still up in a tree.

_Oh balls! _

--x--

"Hello?"

A pause, then a sigh.

"Again?"

Another pause, coupled with a strong sense of disbelief.

"The _same_ tree?"

An exasperated sigh.

"Fine."

There was a great deal of mumbling on how someone was once young but was not a snot-nosed tyke who got himself stuck in the same tree _twice_ on the same day, before the door opened and then shut as the master of the house went off to make another rescue effort.

--x--

Peter did have a few cuts and scratches on his hands _this_ time since he put more effort into attempting to climb down the tree by himself, but in the end the boy still required rescuing as it was still too much for him. Arthur did not let him down at all after the second rescue, but instead carried the boy all the way into the house. He fetched the first aid kit and then made Peter sit on the kitchen counter, told the boy to stay put and started to work.

"You," Arthur said sternly as he cleaned a rather nasty-looking cut with an alcohol-dipped cotton swab, "are not climbing any more trees. Not today, not tomorrow, not in my presence, not _ever_. Because the next time you _do_ get stuck, I shall just _leave_ you up there. Are we clear?"

Peter's lower lip stuck out in a stubborn pout, but he nodded.

"Good." Arthur applied a plaster on the cut. "All done. Now run along."

"Done? Already?"

"What, do you want me to kiss it better then?"

Peter made a face at him before the boy jumped off the counter and scampered out the kitchen.

Arthur shrugged. "Thought not."

--x--

Peter tiptoed to put the final book back on the bookshelf, mentally screaming at Arthur's love for hardcovers. He jumped off the stool he was standing on, carried it back to its proper place and then turned around to survey the room.

The library still looked a bit off, since a number of the books were clearly put on backwards, spines against the back of the bookshelves, but Peter thought it looked decent enough at first glance.

Now he just needed to get himself cleaned up - who knew tidying up could be so messy? - and see if there was anything left to eat, since his efforts in the past few hours had left him positively hungry.

He trotted off to the guest bedroom and opened the closet to get a towel. He could not help but notice the huge black plastic bags at the bottom of the closet. Curious, he opened them only to find, much to his disappointment, the empty boxes for the Wii and PS3.

There were also a few pieces of paper; one was a receipt for the gaming systems and games while the rest were printouts from emails. The first email was from Kiku and the second from Alfred. The subject was identical; a list of video games someone Peter's age would like. That explained the flush on Arthur's cheeks when he asked about the video games earlier. The man clearly knew nothing about video games, and had to ask his friends about them.

The sense of guilt Peter had earlier successfully shoved under the carpet and jumped on for good measure crawled out of its hiding place and tugged on Peter's heartstrings, and yanked even harder when Peter realised that the receipt was dated yesterday.

It did not take a great deal of thinking to figure out that apparently Arthur, the mean old jerk, had gone through all this trouble just because _he_ was staying over for the weekend.

Well, Arthur should have done it before... but Arthur never actually knew in all those previous occasions that Peter was going to drop by, now did he?

Peter then tried telling himself that it was probably because Arthur wanted him to occupy himself with something, anything, other than annoying the man while he was trying to do some work, but _still._

Biscuits. And video games.

"Oh balls!" he yelled, not caring if Arthur heard him this time.

--x--

It was some time later when Arthur finished the last of his paperwork, leaned back in his chair and stretched. Now he just needed to make a quick meal for both him and Peter and then put the boy to bed, before taking a nice shower and then some much-deserved sleep. He massaged his stiff neck and only then noticed that the door was open.

"Peter?"

The boy was standing in the doorway, one hand still clinging onto the doorknob. He looked... tired? Yes, but there was more to it - Peter also looked as if he could not decide if he were angry or sad, or even both.

Arthur got up. "Are you hungry? Sorry, I just got lost in all this work and didn't notice the time. I'll go make you something."

"It's all right," Peter replied. "I had the leftovers from lunch. I made you chicken soup too, but it's only packet."

Arthur blinked. "Oh... thank you," he said, really concerned this time. He resisted the urge to pinch himself to check if he was dreaming. "Peter, is something wrong?"

He was more than startled when Peter ran towards him, a blur of white and blue clothing, and of all things in the world the boy could have done, hugged him. _Hugged him._ "Peter?" he said in wide-eyed surprise.

"Mmmf," was all Peter said, and hugged even harder, burying his face in Arthur's legs. A small smile formed on Arthur's face and he ruffled the boy's soft blond hair.

And then Peter let go and kicked him hard in his left knee.

_"Ow!_ What the _hell_ was that for?" he roared, hopping on one foot to the door in a futile attempt to catch Peter. The only reply Arthur got was Peter's laughter as the boy ran up the stairs and into the safety of his bedroom.

--x--

The next day passed without any incidents, except for one minor occasion when the strain of behaving himself was just too much for Peter, who then had made an attempt to auction off the Falklands on eBay under a fake account of 'meanoldengland'. There was the usual bit of yelling ("I did not go to war with Argentina just so you can get some pocket money out of it, you rotter!") but otherwise it was relatively peaceful until Berwald arrived in the evening to take Peter home.

"Used the box?" the tall man asked, holding Peter's hand.

Arthur shook his head. Not that he had any idea _how_ to use the cardboard box in the first place. He reminded himself to ask Berwald later about the box, since he noticed that Peter shuddered at the very mention of it.

Berwald looked pleased - at least that what Arthur thought what he looked like, since the corner of his lips moved up just a tiny bit. "Thanks."

"You're welcome."

"Come 'n visit. Me 'n m'wife 'd be glad to have y' around." He turned to Peter. "Your brother takes good care of y', y'see. Thank 'im."

The boy mumbled something and to Arthur's surprise, shoved something into Arthur's hands before the boy ran off into Berwald's car. Bertwald nodded and followed suit.

Peter was sitting in the back and making faces at him as the car headed for the gate, and Arthur gave in to a childish impulse and stuck out his tongue in response. Once the car was out of sight, he looked at what Peter had given him.

It was a note written in red marker pen. Arthur could not help but be amused with the little rockets and missiles drawn on the sheet of paper, even if they were aimed at his name. The note read:

_Dear Arthur,_

_Thank you for taking care of me this weekend._

_Love,_

_Peter._

_P.S. You're a meanie and I still hate you._

"Fancy that," he muttered, tucking the note in his pocket. Still, for some unknown reason, he could not help but smile.

* * *

**Author's note:** Inspired by having to retrieve my brother from a tree _three_ times in a single day. The same tree. This one's probably the last one-shot for a bit. I'll shut up now.


End file.
